


Road Trip

by obwjam



Category: MASH (TV)
Genre: M/M, Will update the tags accordingly
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-07-17
Updated: 2020-07-25
Packaged: 2021-03-04 22:40:21
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 4,254
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25324042
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/obwjam/pseuds/obwjam
Summary: It's been two months since the Korean War ended and Hawkeye's going on a road trip to visit BJ in Mill Valley. He's making some stops along the way, too.
Relationships: B. J. Hunnicutt/Benjamin Franklin "Hawkeye" Pierce
Comments: 5
Kudos: 22





	1. Prologue

**Author's Note:**

> i've always wanted to do a reunion fic while also exploring the very interesting dynamic that is hunnihawk... so that's what this is. all based on the wildly in-depth conversations the swamp things gc are always having. there are probably little details about 50s life or post-war life that i won't be able to capture fully, but i will be trying my best! :-)

Hawkeye’s hands gripped the wheel with a misplaced sense of urgency. He had nowhere to go -- not yet. It was still three days before he was to  _ officially _ hit the road. Destination: Mill Valley. Stops in Philadelphia, Hannibal, Ottumwa and Toledo. Quite the laundry list of places, Hawkeye thought, as he became conscious of his attempted strangulation of the wheel. He flexed his hands out and sucked in a breath. He knew this road like he knew the human body. A snaking path, like a vein running through an arm, that was only wide enough for one and a half cars. Hawkeye drove in the middle. The only person out this late was him.

When the road became straight, he would watch the reflection of the moon as it raced along the surface of the water beside him, shimmering with the waves and flowing with the wind that made the riptides and crashed the water along the jagged shore. The boom of the water as it his the rocks below was deep and rumbling. It shook Hawkeye to his core.  It had only been two months since coming back to Maine, and here he was, so ready to leave again. He couldn’t sit still. He had to get out. He had to move. 

Which brought him to the road. His dad let him take his treasured Cadillac because, even though he might never know what his son truly experienced overseas, he had heard so many stories about the jeeps that he felt his own body ache after reading Hawkeye’s letters. It was nearly September now. The wind in his hair was chilly, but the ocean breeze was warm, with all the absorbed heat from the summer sun finally setting itself free. Hawkeye had celebrated his 31st birthday just two days ago. If he were a normal person, he’d be next in line for a midlife crisis, but time meant nothing to him anymore. Korea was both a blur and the longest three years of his life. In the mirror, it looked more like a decade.

Hawkeye slowed as the road became more curvy. He was almost there now. He carefully turned with the wide bend that flanked the cliffside, and as soon as he rounded the corner, the moon was directly above him like a guiding light. Just as he remembered. As far as he was concerned, Maine was the only thing in the world that remained untouched.

He slowed to a crawl now, looking for the small patch of grass he was going to call his parking space. Grass. The type of grass that grew from down in the sand up to your knees. It was a miracle that, through all the road and rock and erosion, this grass managed to stay. And it kept growing, no matter what harsh winds and cold temperatures it had to endure. 

Hawkeye shut the car off, letting the engine hum for a few moments before pulling the keys out of the ignition. He had never cared much for mechanics. Even after reading Trapper’s magazines ten times over, it never made sense to him. There was nothing beautiful in the manmade. All the beauty was right here in front of him. 

His eyes wandered along the rocky beaches he spent hours on as a kid, waving around a wooden sword with an eyepatch his mom had helped him sew. He would run around digging in the sand, following the treasure map he thought his parents had found stored under a panel in the attic. He remembered being very disappointed when he realized they were all made up. But he also remembered how grateful he was that they put that much effort into keeping him happy. 

Maine was all he could think about in Korea. But he found himself wincing every time a wave crashed below, and he tensed up when a gust of wind blew at him from behind. Korea was all he could think about here. 

Hawkeye reached into his jacket pocket and felt the familiar crunch of the letter. He gently tugged it out and unfurled it. He gripped the edges delicately, yet tightly -- as only a surgeon could. As if it were his most prized possession. As if letting it go would somehow diminish its importance. 

He had carried it around with him since receiving it. It smelled just like BJ, though it was different somehow. A little more flowery.  _ That must be what she smells like _ . Hawkeye had always thought BJ smelled like oranges. No, like  _ citrus _ , like every sweet fruit rolled into one. Like those candles that were labeled  _ summer breeze  _ that Hawkeye always found so ridiculous, because the breeze didn’t have a smell, and he maintained that position until he met BJ. Even after a grueling plane ride to Hawkeye’s little corner of the earth, he had still managed to look so  _ good _ in that suit. To  _ smell _ like something Hawkeye had never experienced before. Even with Hawkeye in the midst of reeling from Trapper’s sudden departure, BJ was there, all clean-shaven, wide-eyed and looking so  _ stupid _ with that hat. The hat that flew off, the hat that BJ didn’t realize at the time he wouldn’t miss. Maybe it was BJ recognizing Rudyard Kipling. Maybe it was the way he responded to Hawkeye’s jokes like they were long-lost friends; the way he instantly understood who Hawkeye was, and played along with him. The army could have drafted anybody. They plucked up BJ. It was the only thing Hawkeye would ever thank the army for.

He found himself standing right at the edge of the cliff. The waters below would swallow him up in an instant; unforgiving, unrelenting. Three years ago, those waters were inviting; inspiring. Hawkeye wondered what else he once loved was now warped. He turned his head down.

_ Hawkeye, _

_ Feels weird to be writing to you like this. I find myself not even knowing what to say -- I stared at a blank piece of paper for 30 minutes before figuring out I should start with your name at the top. And another 30 minutes passed before I started the rest. But I just knew I had to send something. _

_ There’s so much to tell you about, Hawk, I don’t think there are enough pieces of paper on earth to fit all my words. To think Korea was the halfway point in which we had to meet to make this all possible. _

Hawkeye always had to pause at this part. Stupid mustache, unbuttoned pink shirt BJ was worlds from the poetic, domestic BJ he was holding.

_ Oh, wait, you’ll love this. Peg just asked me who I was writing to, and I said ‘Hawkeye’. A minute later, Erin comes crawling in, babbling ‘hawky’ over and over and over. Hawky. That’s cute. Mind if I start using that? _

_ Anyway, I know it’s only been a few weeks. More than anything, I just have to know if you can’t close your eyes without hearing it too. Sometimes, the harder I shut them, the brighter the lights get. I haven’t been able to sleep straight through the night since I got home.  _

_ I don’t know what your plans are, but I’m not going back to residency for a while. They’re giving me some time off to help "get used to civilian life again". I hear that’s what they’re doing with a lot of the medics and surgeons. Peeling dirty diapers off Erin as she shrieks is a welcomed change of pace, anyway.  _

_ I suppose there are 3,000 miles between us right now. It’s a shame you couldn’t have picked a closer place to live. It’s probably silly of me to even propose this, but 3,000 miles is a two-week trip if you play your cards right -- and if I learned anything about you, it’s that you always know what cards to play. If you ever wondered why they call California the golden state, well… you’ve got a place in Mill Valley waiting for you. _

_ Hopefully this letter gets to you in a few days, not a few weeks. And hopefully I get yours just as soon. I miss you, Hawk. _

_ Write soon. _

_ BJ _

That was two months ago. Hawkeye imagined what it would be like when he walked into that house -- the smell of rum cookies floating in from the kitchen. The giggles of a little girl coming from all directions. And one tall, brown-haired surgeon, running from room to room to give his wife a kiss and to scoop up his daughter and put her on his shoulders. He’d have a giant grin -- that wide, toothy grin of his. The one that made him look young every time he flashed it.

And in the last two months, Hawkeye wrote back to BJ again, again and again. It was obvious after the first exchange of letters that 3,000 miles was a paltry distance to overcome. Hawkeye had committed to seeing BJ even before he finished reading the first letter for the first time.

Then came the rest. The first person that came to mind was Margaret, but he wasn't sure where she'd be. He figured he would try and phone around for her when he got to BJ's. It'd cost less money that way. He briefly considered stopping by Boston to find Charles, but the chances of the two of them bumping into each other in a coffee shop before work were much higher than Charles agreeing to willingly spend time with Hawkeye.

Philadelphia was close enough to call, so Hawkeye rang up some churches until he heard the unmistakable diction of Francis Mulcahy on the other end. He wouldn’t mind Hawkeye dropping in to see him at all! The only American city Hawkeye had ever been to was Boston for residency, and he would be lying to himself if he said he wasn’t a little bit curious as to what Philly was all about. After all, if the good Father could sing its praises, it had to be alright.

Radar was easy. He was more than eager to see Hawkeye again. He scrawled out his address in big block letters -- even though Hawkeye was the one to send him a letter first -- and told Hawkeye to visit him anytime he wanted, as long as he promised to help out on the farm. Hawkeye tore the address out of the letter so he could keep it in his wallet.

Potter took a while to respond, but once his letter finally came through, he was touched that Hawkeye wanted to see him again. Mildred wanted to meet him, too -- through dozens of Potter’s letters, Hawkeye had grown to be an infamous point of conversation among their friends. She just had to see what all the fuss was about.

Finally, there was Klinger. Somehow, he was the hardest to reach, if only because Hawkeye didn’t really know where to find him. He had wasted nearly $10 just to reach Tony Packo’s over the phone. But he was finally able to locate him. Klinger sounded happy to hear from him, right up until the moment Hawkeye suggested a visit. Klinger warned him it was a bad idea, but Hawkeye insisted he just  _ had _ to eat a Hungarian hot dog straight from the source. Klinger tried to push back several more times before resigning to the fact that he was going to get a visit whether he wanted one or not.

Hawkeye scanned the letter again. He really never did get tired of looking at BJ’s handwriting. It was too neat for a doctor but too messy for just about every other profession. Hawkeye felt bad about his chicken scratch every time he sent something back. BJ had joked that he was getting a stray dog to take notes for him. But he never complained.

A gust of wind caught his attention, and he turned his head back up to the water. He admired the way the waves blanketed the rough rocks in such an intricate, beautiful way. How could something so rough look so gorgeous at the same time? He laughed to himself. He stole that line.

The letter crinkled gently with the beats of the breeze. Like a heartbeat, really. Holding BJ’s letter was like holding California sunshine in the palm of his hand. Soon -- very soon -- he’d be able to hold it in his arms.


	2. I

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> please ignore how it will say "chapter 2" but it'll be titled roman numeral I because i dont feel like naming the chapters and i wanted to do a prologue ok thank u <3

“Is that all you’re going to bring?”

Daniel Pierce slowly sipped his dark coffee from the small wooden table that sat snugly next to the large dining room window. It was a foggy morning, but it was bound to clear out by noon. Between the sound of his fingers tapping the side of the mug and his son’s incessant pacing back and forth, it was quiet. Daniel could hear the waves crashing onto the beach just a few miles up the road.

“Well… yeah,” Hawkeye responded absently, running a hand through his frighteningly grey hair. Hawkeye’s hair was jet black before he left. Just like his mother’s. “What else do I need?”

“Clean clothes, for one,” Daniel deadpanned, standing up to his full height. “It’ll take at least two weeks to get out to California.”

“I can do laundry along the way! Father Mulcahy would probably wash my shirts by hand if I asked him to.”

Daniel chuckled. “I didn’t realize you’d been converted.”

Hawkeye tilted his head.

“Doesn’t this Mulcahy have a first name?” Daniel asked. “You’ve only ever called him Father.”

“Sure he does. It says ‘Father’ on his birth certificate. A true born Christian, you know.” When Daniel didn’t laugh, Hawkeye shrugged. “Yeah, he’s got a real first name. But… but he’s Father Mulcahy. That’s just what we call him.”

“I see.” Another sip. “Just like this… young fellow out in Iowa.”

“Radar.”

“Sure,” Daniel smiled. “ _ Radar _ . Is that what you’re going to call him when you see him? Does his mother know that?”

“His mother named him  _ Walter! _ That’s her problem if he’s intent on being called anything else but that!” Hawkeye looked to the floor. He hadn’t really given it much thought.  _ Any  _ thought, really. These were his friends, right? These were just the names they went by. 

“You call me Hawkeye,” he mumbled, aware of his father’s gaze on him. “You’ve called me Hawkeye for years. Why is this any different?”

“I call you that  _ occasionally _ ,” Daniel reminded him. “All the folks in town have known you since you were a kid. They know how much you like that nickname. But ever since you went off to Boston to become a big-shot surgeon, they don’t ask me how Hawkeye is doing. They ask me how  _ Ben _ is doing.”

Hawkeye shoved his hands into the pockets of his slacks.

“Maybe it was different in Korea,” Daniel continued. “But you’re not there anymore, Benny.”

Hawkeye winced.

“I know it’s difficult.” Daniel sauntered over to his son, who was a mere two inches shorter than him. Daniel had forgotten just how much he’d grown. He put his mug down and wrapped an arm around Hawkeye’s shoulders. “I don’t know what you went through over there.”

“No, you don’t,” Hawkeye grumbled. Daniel pretended not to hear.

“But maybe it’s time to accept that you’re back here, in the good ol’ U-S of A,” Daniel smiled, giving Hawkeye a gentle nudge. “And that your friends are still your friends, no matter where in the world they are. Even if your lives are separate, even if their names are different, you’re still connected in a way that nothing can change.”

Hawkeye kept his gaze glued to the floor. Daniel sighed.

“Wasn’t there another young man?” Daniel asked, trying to lighten the mood. “He had a funny nickname, too. You used to write to me about him all the time. McIntosh?”

The blood drained from Hawkeye’s face like someone had popped a balloon. 

“McIntyre,” he corrected his dad, who was purposefully misremembering. “John McIntyre. Trapper.”

“Trapper!” Daniel snapped his fingers. “That’s it. He’s in Boston, right? Aren’t you going to see him, too?”

Hawkeye had tried his hardest to pretend like Trapper didn’t live in the same city he had done his residency in. He had tried his hardest not to think about all the times they might have passed each other before the war; maybe bumping into each other in a coffee shop or trying to cross the street before the light turned green again. Maybe they had lived near each other. Maybe he had made googly eyes at Louise without even knowing. Without realizing.

“Hawkeye?”

Hawkeye’s head snapped up. Two months at home didn’t do much for the abyss of thought he jumped into anytime someone mentioned Trapper around him.

“Uh, no,” he answered quickly, trying to sound like he wasn’t bothered. “No, I. I haven’t heard from him in a while.” His mind flashed back to September 1952. The night where they got a little too drunk. The night where Hawkeye confessed a little too much. The night where Trapper had leaned in, their lips brushing against each other until they were connected in ways that Hawkeye had only dreamed of. The night where they had done a little too much, and the next morning Hawkeye had  _ begged _ Frank to let him get some R&R because he couldn’t look Trapper in the eyes just yet. And he didn’t realize he’d never get the chance to do it again.

Daniel saw the shadow pass over Hawkeye’s face and decided not to question it. He had seen that look before. 

“You can borrow some of my shirts,” Daniel said nonchalantly, like they were still talking about Hawkeye’s luggage. “And my suitcase, too. You’re going to need more than one bag.”

Hawkeye nodded, not really listening and not really caring as Daniel walked up the creaky wooden stairs to his room. Should he write to Trapper? Did he _want_ to at this point? He was married, damn it. He had  _ kids _ , damn it! Hawkeye would have to go back to Boston eventually. He couldn’t pretend like it didn’t bother him.

But what if he didn’t? What if he got to Mill Valley and never left? Because sure, Trapper was in Boston. Charles was there, too. All the doctors he knew were there. But BJ was in California, and that was all that mattered to him. BJ was there, excited and waiting. BJ had a wife who was dying to meet him. BJ had a daughter, too. BJ had written him letters. BJ cared.

“Hey, Hawkeye! You’ll never believe what I just found!” Daniel shouted from the top of the stairs, snapping Hawkeye from his trance. He came running down with a stained grey tee shirt in his hands. “It’s your old track shirt.”

“Oh my god-- dad! Why on earth do you still have that?” Hawkeye laughed incredulously. He took it and fanned it out. On the top in bold, curved letters, it read  _ Crabapple Cove _ . There was a track shoe in the middle, and the word  _ Warriors _ on the bottom. Hawkeye took a whiff. It still smelled like 1938.

“I thought I’d gotten rid of it once you graduated,” Daniel said. “Turns out I just threw it in a box and shoved it in the closet.”

“Dad, this goes against the entire plan. It smells like shit,” Hawkeye blurted. Daniel burst out laughing, and soon Hawkeye joined, each taking turns of holding the shirt, sniffing it, and throwing it to the other. 

“I can’t wear this!” Hawkeye said between giggles as he caught the shirt. He gave it a long look. There were dark stains around the sleeves, and a little rip on the right side. “Remember when Johnston tried to make me run hurdles?”

“My god, you were horrible at those,” Daniel laughed.

“Yeah,” Hawkeye replied, rubbing his thumb over the hole. 

“Why don’t you take the shirt,” Daniel said gently after a beat of silence. “You can have that Father Mulcahy--”

“--Francis.”

“What?”

“His name’s Francis,” Hawkeye said. “Francis John Patrick Mulcahy. Tried to cram as many biblical names in there as possible.”

Daniel sniffed a laugh. “Well. Have Francis wash the shirt for you.” He looked at Hawkeye, who was staring at the shirt with intense interest. 

“BJ will get a kick out of this,” Hawkeye said quietly. “He never believed me when I told him I did sports in high school.”

“I don’t think I blame him,” Daniel said, picking his coffee mug back up again and taking a long sip. “This BJ fellow really sounds like a swell guy.”

“Yeah. He’s… he’s something.”  _ He’s something?! _ That’s all he could think of to describe the most wonderful man he’s ever met?

Daniel smiled. It wasn’t often that Hawkeye was at a loss for words. He put his hand on Hawkeye’s shoulder and gave him a gentle squeeze. “Well, I hope you get him out here to Maine one day. I’d really love to meet him.”

When Hawkeye’s gaze met his dad’s, he could feel his eyes start to water. 

“He’s never even seen real snow,” Hawkeye said. His heart fluttered at the thought of BJ looking up to the sky in wonder, watching winter blanket everything for miles. Maybe he’d even get to experience the beauty of the beach in December, with its impossibly cold chill and patches of snow laid out in checkered patterns along the sand. He’d slip on a patch of ice, and Hawkeye would laugh before holding out his mittened hand to pull him up. “He’s never seen anything like this.”

“Well, maybe by the time you’re done visiting him, you can get him back here in time for autumn.”

“A real New England autumn,” Hawkeye agreed as Daniel nodded. “He wouldn’t believe the colors.”

“I’ve lived here all my life and it still takes my breath away.”

Hawkeye paused a moment before pulling his father into a tight hug. He knew he had to let go eventually, but right now, he wanted to be nowhere else in the world but here.

“I’ll be back soon, dad.”

“I hope so,” Daniel said into Hawkeye’s shoulder. “You just got home, and you’re so eager to leave again.”

Hawkeye pulled away and rubbed his eyes. “I dunno, I… I just have this feeling, y’know? Like I stepped off a roller coaster and even though I’m standing still, it still feels like I’m moving.”

“I understand,” Daniel reassured. He leaned down and handed Hawkeye his suitcase that he had stuffed with shirts. “I want you to take as much time as you need, alright? Don’t rush back here because you feel bad for me. I’ll still be here when you get back.”

“That’s the best part about you, dad,” Hawkeye said, grabbing the second suitcase in his other hand. “You’re always here.”

“And I always will be,” he said firmly. “For you, and… for whoever you decide to bring through that front door.” 

Hawkeye had brought a lot of people through that door -- Janine. Lisa. Gail. Betty. Tommy. His dad had endured all of it.  _ Supported _ all of it. He had held him when he cried. He brought him tissues and made him hot chocolate and told him he’d go through a million heartbreaks before he found the one. He said he didn’t know exactly how he felt, but he knew it couldn’t be all that different than any other guy. They watched funny shows on TV and laughed at how the world around them turned while Crabapple Cove remained silent and unchanging.

Hawkeye had cried a lot his first night back from Korea. He couldn’t sleep knowing he had turned with the world while Crabapple Cove stayed firmly in its place. But maybe it was all for the better, because Hawkeye had found someone he could stand still with no matter where he was. Time stood still in Korea in a way he couldn’t comprehend. He accepted it, though, because it meant he made up for all the hours he wasted chasing nurses up and down the camp. Romantic nights in the supply closet with the blonde behind door number one lost their charm when BJ showed up.

“You ready, Hawkeye?”

Hawkeye blinked. Daniel was holding out the car keys.

“The open road awaits,” Hawkeye mused, taking the keys from his father’s hand. 

“Call me if you can, okay?” Daniel rushed through the small hallway and pulled the door open for his son. “I want to know when you get to California.”

“I’ll wait ‘till I get to BJ’s so he can cover the cost,” Hawkeye quipped, stepping onto the front porch. He chuckled when Daniel rolled his eyes. “I’ll call.”

“Good. Now get going, huh? You don’t want to keep him waiting.”

Hawkeye felt his face get hot, but his smile was able to mask it. “No. No, I don’t.”

“Be safe, Benny,” Daniel said softly.

“I will, dad. I love you.”

“I love you too.” 

Daniel stood on the porch, mug still in hand, and leaned on the railing as Hawkeye loaded up his car and rolled down the windows. 

“Don’t drive too fast!” he warned as Hawkeye started to back out of the driveway.

The car screeched to a stop and Hawkeye’s head popped into view. “Are you kidding? After three years of jeeps that couldn’t top 15 miles an hour?!” 

Daniel laughed until his son’s car had driven beyond the horizon, much faster than the 20 mile-per-hour limit. He was still the same old Hawkeye. 


End file.
